


The Return

by ameliagillan



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 02:56:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ameliagillan/pseuds/ameliagillan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I sleep in your bed because it smells like you, but it's starting to smell like me." </p><p>A small Johnlock fanfic of how John finds out Sherlock is not dead. i know it's short. Hope you like it. I kinda stole a little bit of it from someone on Deviantart, so, hope you like it</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Return

"Have you written on your blog recently, John?"  
"No."   
"John, it helps."  
"No. No it... it doesn-..." I said choking back on tears.  
"John. It's been three years."  
I didn't say anything. Yes. It had been three years. Three years since...the incident. But I just can't, can't accept it.   
-Beep-   
“John-“  
“I know.” I said and took my phone out of my pocket and turned it off.  
“So back to what I was saying-“  
-Beep-   
My therapist looks at me, he eyes growing large.  
“Sorry.”  
-Beep-  
“Okay, John, let’s just call it a day. Okay?”  
“Okay. Yeah. Sure.” I say as she picks up her stuff and I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. I put in the password and go to my messages.  
John. I’m sorry. –SH  
It’s me. It’s actually me. –SH  
Please come home. –SH   
I vaguely hear the crashing as my phone hits the ground.  
I stand in the middle of the room for who knows how long, and then I start running. I run to the door and down the flight of stairs and out of the building. I run to a cab and hop in.   
“221b Baker Street, please.” I say to the driver and sit back. Even if this is a trick, I have to be sure. The text said “It’s me. It’s actually me.” Should I trust it? It could be a trick. But if there’s any chance. Any chance at all, that he may still be alive…I have to make sure. 

 

“Who’s ther-“ The smile on Mrs. Hudson’s face faltered after she opened the door and saw it was me. “John.” Her smile came back in full. “How are you doing honey?” She said.  
“I just left my pocket book in the flat upstairs. Harry wants a number of one of our…cousins.” I said hesitantly.  
“Okay, hun. Go ahead and go get it. You still have the key right?” She asked.  
“Yeah.” I said pulling it out of my pocket. I walked up the first few steps when Mrs. Hudson said: “It’s nice to see you.”  
“Yeah, you too.” I said and walked up the rest of the stairs to the apartment that I had not been in for three years. I swiftly took the key and put it in the lock, not knowing if I should just leave now. But I turned it and opened the door.  
I instantly smelled tea coming from the kitchen. And not just any tea. His tea. His brand. His favorite. I walk into the sitting room and see dust everywhere. Obviously Mrs. Hudson hadn’t the slightest idea to come up here too. She didn't even think to rent it out I don't think.  
I hear a spoon fall to the floor from the kitchen.  
I slowly turn around. There standing in the kitchen was Sherlock. Perfectly fine. No blood, no bruises, absolutely fine.  
I walk over to him and put a hand on his shirt making sure he’s real and not some made up thing in my imagination. He takes my hand and holds it.  
“It’s me. It’s really me.”  
I pull my hand away, and slap him.  
“WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?” I yell.  
“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU HAVE PUT ME THROUGH?” I ask him, emphasizing all the syllables with a hit in the chest.  
“Hell. You put me through hell.” I say turning my back.  
“I know. And I’m sorry.” He said.  
“Three years, Sherlock. Three years.” I said not turning to face him. “Where have you  
been?”  
“I went to Cardiff. Stayed on the bay. And thought about you every day. I had to make sure that none of the…” He didn’t finish.  
“What? That none of the what?” I asked him turning around.  
“Let me start from the beginning. Okay? Let me tell you.” He said.  
“Okay. Fine. Tell me. From the beginning.” I said and he walked up to me, turned me around, pushed me into the sitting room, and sat me down in one of the armchairs. And he told me what happened. Start to finish. How the key code Moriarty planted was not real, how he just had people in the right place at the right time, how he asked Molly for help, and how me, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson were going to die if he didn’t jump.  
“But how did you survive? I watched you jump off that building.”   
“Okay. This is where it gets complicated.” He said.  
He explains this crazy and elaborate plan, that I barely understand. But he mentions if you pace a small ball under your armpit it cuts off the circulation, causing no pulse. He then goes on about how he couldn’t risk coming in contact with me because the shooters still lived in the area until 2 days ago when they all flew to North Korea for who knows what. He said Mycroft had told him it was safe to come back and he swore Mycroft to secrecy for my life.  
“Sherlock. I…I…” I stammered. He got out of his char and came over, pulled me out of mine, into a soft but comforting hug and whispered in my ear: “I’m never going away again.”


End file.
